


Masquerades and Masquerades

by firefox49



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cursed Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fade to Black, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefox49/pseuds/firefox49
Summary: Jaskier really needs a date. Geralt owes him a favor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 391





	1. A Proposal, of Sorts

It was a clear day, and Geralt and Jaskier were at the threshold of a new town. It was quite an idyllic one, surrounded by sprawling meadows and lush wildflowers. They didn't even get half as many sneers as usual as they passed the first cluster of houses. Geralt was only half paying attention, though, because the other half of him was listening to Jaskier's latest rambling. To be honest, he had zoned out as soon as "masquerade ball" left Jaskier's mouth.

"... and that's why I want you to be my plus one."

Geralt snapped back to the present. Shame, he had been indulging in a pleasant daydream involving not going anywhere near a masquerade ball. "You want me to be your... what? Why?"

"My date, you oaf. I can't possibly go alone, and everyone else I know is already going with someone. I couldn't bear the humiliation."

"Absolutely not. You don't want me there, anyway." He hopped off of Roach and began tying her up outside an inn. He nodded curtly at a passerby who had waved at him.

"Yes, I admit our last formal endeavor didn't go so smoothly, but this time will be different. Besides," he said, leaning against a post and giving Geralt a pointed glance, "you owe me."

Geralt scowled. "For what?"

"For distracting... those kikimoras... preventing your certain doom..." Drat. Geralt did remember agreeing to that, bloodied and bruised but much better off than he would have been had Jaskier not intervened.

This earned Jaskier a solid glare nonetheless, but Jaskier remained unmoving, raising an eyebrow. Sometimes Geralt hated the fact that he couldn't intimidate Jaskier anymore. Alas, the bard stood his ground and Geralt knew he would be forced to relent.

"Fine. We're not staying the whole time, though."

"Yes!" Jaskier's delighted smile almost made it worth it as he pumped his fists in the air. "You, my friend, will not regret this." He was already scampering off, probably to the nearest clothing shop. Geralt shuddered at the thought. He hated formal wear. It was stiff, and uncomfortable, and impossible to move in. It felt like having his arms bound to his sides. Jaskier, of course, always looked good in those ridiculous outfits. The vibrant blues and purples brought out his eyes and he could navigate like a pro in those damned heels. He could dance, too. Oh, gods, Geralt was going to have to dance. He groaned internally as he collected his room key from the innkeeper and trudged down the hall, dreading Jaskier's return.

\---

Jaskier was still trying to believe he'd gotten Geralt to say yes. Despite the debt, he was expecting to have to fight harder for it. He hummed merrily as he traipsed along the racks of clothes. What color would suit Geralt? He only ever wore blacks, whites, and browns, and for a masquerade ball, that simply wouldn't do. It crossed his mind briefly to play into the White Wolf persona, but he didn't imagine Geralt would want to draw more attention to his identity than necessary.

Unless...

His train of thought screeched to a halt when he came across a mask. It was beautifully crafted, and more importantly, it covered the whole face. Muttering a quick thank you to Lady Luck, Jaskier picked up the white wolf mask and turned it about in his hands. Yes, this would do. This would do nicely. He tossed it into his bag, pleased with his new direction.

\---

Jaskier made no attempt to return to the room inconspicuously, although Geralt imagined he took more notice than anyone else. He had been strangely on edge during Jaskier's absence, knowing the course of the next few days of his life. He got up to open the door for Jaskier, and he came crashing through like a herd of elk with bags strapped to his shoulders, looking joyous as ever.

He slapped Geralt's hand away when he reached to look inside the bags. "Ah, ah," he chided, closing them securely and tossing them in the corner. "It's got to be a surprise, you know." Geralt groaned.

"Can't you let me dread this ball in peace?" 

Jaskier just tutted and shook his head. "Just know, my witchery companion, that it will be stunning."

Geralt scoffed and turned away. Out the window, he glimpsed the sunset, which bathed their room in a rosy orange that collected in a rather charming glint in Jaskier's eye. Jaskier stuck his arm out. "Dinner?" Geralt almost grinned and batted his hand away, but followed him nonetheless.


	2. Lessons learned

When Geralt gained consciousness to find Jaskier already awake, he rolled over and groaned. That could only mean that today was the day. Unfortunately, Jaskier noticed.

"Up, now, lazybones," Jaskier said, giving him a playful whack with a pillow. "There's plenty to be done and not nearly enough daylight to do it!"

"They're costumes, Jask," Geralt grumbled, "What could possibly take so long?"

"I am too offended to dignify that with an answer," Jaskier replied, obviously about to answer the question. "It's time for a boy's day!" And thus commenced a day of spas, foot rubs, and dubious elixirs meant to beautify and de-age. Jaskier only managed to convince Geralt to put on one 'magical' face powder that he had smelled and determined to have no magical properties whatsoever.

"How do you bear so many strangers with their hands all over you?" Geralt asked with a shudder. Jaskier stuck his nose in the air.

"We all make sacrifices for beauty, witcher."

Geralt just shook his head and hoped there were no more magical remedies to try.

"I suppose that means you won't be too fond of the hairdresser, then."

Geralt, unable to suppress his disgust, gave a belabored sigh. Jaskier threw his hands up.

"Fine, fine, we can skip that one." He examined the sun's position in the sky. "We'll grab a bite to eat and go home then, yeah?"

Geralt nodded. That he could get behind.

* * *

Their cheeks rosy with wine and their stomachs full, the pair returned to their room as the sun kissed the horizon. "Now for the big reveal." Jaskier's tone danced with excitement as he picked up his bags. To be honest, Geralt had almost forgotten what they were doing that night.

"Ta da!" When Jaskier turned around, he was holding a finely made white suit in one hand, and a matching wolf mask in the other.

"The White Wolf? Really?"

"No, listen, hear me out." Jaskier held up a finger. "Everyone already knows _of_ the White Wolf, they don't know his face. It's a costume, people will just think you're making a joke."

Geralt nodded slowly. "Hmm." It might even work, he supposed. "What are you, then? The annoying bard?"

The comment glanced right off Jaskier as he rummaged around for the other costume. He held up an intricate, delicately crafted swan mask, dark as midnight. "The white wolf and the black swan. We'll make the loveliest pair in the place."

Not saying anything, Geralt examined his suit. There were tiny silver threads traced among the white, giving it the occasional sparkle that stayed well on the good side of gaudy. The fur on the mask was too short and soft to be real, but had enough depth to give off the illusion. He started to undress to put it on, but Jaskier stopped him.

"Not until you've bathed," he said sternly. Geralt rolled his eyes, not interested in being mothered, but obliged, given how expensive the garments looked.

"Where'd you even get the money for this?" He asked, pouring out the water they'd set aside for the bath.

"Oh, I've been saving up for today," said Jaskier, neatly folding the suits side by side. "It's a big event, and I haven't been in years. You have no _idea_ how excited I am."

"If you were more excited than you seem, you'd have burst already," Geralt mused as he lowered himself into the warm water. Jaskier waved him off but didn't argue.

It was only when Jaskier approached with one of his fancy-smelling shampoos in his hand that Geralt realized what was going to happen next. He groaned. "Don't complain," Jaskier said, rolling up his sleeves. "I didn't make you let a stranger touch your hair, but you're going to have to let me." Geralt supposed that was fair, and, softened by the knowledge of how much Jaskier had anticipated this day, slid into the water without protest.

Jaskier massaged the shampoo into the ends of his hair in silence. Geralt willed his eyes to shut, and found it less difficult than he'd anticipated. He sensed Jaskier working upwards in silence, thorough and diligent, and Geralt let himself relax, closing his eyes and breathing in the steam. 

His hands were softer than Geralt had expected when he reached the scalp. He could feel the callouses earned from many years of lute playing, but he didn't mind. Jaskier chuckled, and that was when Geralt realized he'd let out a contented hum. Silently cursing his traitorous vocal chords, he turned his head and wished for a swift and painless end. It didn't come, but neither did any further comment from Jaskier. He combed his fingers through Geralt's now-silky hair with a flourish and smiled as he turned to leave. Geralt never took the time to do it himself, but it felt rather nice detangled. His go-to look was "tie it back and try to forget how oily it feels."

When Geralt had dried himself, he found Jaskier already dressed, and damn if he didn't look good in black. There were faint outlines of silver-threaded feathers falling gently down the trim, which matched the silver-tipped feathers that coated the mask. Jaskier waggled an eyebrow at him and tossed him his clothes. He put them on and, somehow, didn't hate them. They fit well-- surprisingly well-- and the white had enough contrast in the accessory bits that it didn't wash him out completely. When he put on the mask, he could almost see himself as the dashing stranger, the desirable mystery man at the ball. He almost laughed to himself at the notion as he took it off.

"A dance before we go, mister Wolf?" Jaskier asked with a grin.

"Are we going to have to dance?" Geralt said. Jaskier's jaw dropped.

"Do you mean to tell me you can't dance?" It was half a question and half a statement.

"What kind of ballerina do I look like to you?" Geralt replied defensively. "I thought we were just going to... I don't know. Socialize?"

"No, no, _no,_ that won't do at all," Jaskier said with an exasperated tone. "You'll just have to learn, then. Follow my lead."

"We start like this," he explained. Apprehensively, Geralt stepped closer, and Jaskier stood beside him, facing the opposite direction, with his heels together and arms tucked behind his back. He really did look like a swan like that. Geralt did his best to mirror his posture, well aware he wouldn't look nearly as graceful.

Jaskier guided him slowly and patiently, humming a waltz softly under his breath in a way that felt intimately close. When they linked arms to turn around each other, their eyes locked, and didn't part until they had to turn away again. Once the dance was over and Jaskier was satisfied, they were much closer than they had been to begin with. They were facing each other, arms opposite in a rather strange gesture that must have looked less awkward from afar. Jaskier's chest was almost touching his, and he could feel each breath against his cheek. "And this," Jaskier breathed with the dying notes of the song, "is where you dip me." He leaned his weight into Geralt's arm without a trace of hesitation, and Geralt gently obliged. Their noses were nearly touching now, and Geralt couldn't figure out what the knot in his stomach meant. It got in the way of his lungs and made his breaths shallow as they mingled with Jaskier's, but Geralt still couldn't bring himself to break eye contact. Painfully and without effort at the same time, he brought Jaskier back to an upright position. As if nothing were amiss, Jaskier grinned.

"Would you look at the time," he remarked, with a glance at the crescent moon. "Seems we've got a party to get to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author requests that you please use your imagination to envision a montage-style compilation of Geralt and Jaskier's boy's day, as they figured too many details would distract from the plot. Thank you for your cooperation.


	3. A conspicuous reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A challenger approaches!

Geralt was in the middle of praying that nobody would recognize him when he spotted Yennefer staring straight at him. He groaned.

"We've been here for fifteen minutes, what are you on about?" Jaskier said, arm laced through Geralt's in a way that felt oddly ordinary. Geralt just nodded at Yennefer, who was now sporting a shit-eating grin and approaching them. "Oh."

"Well, if it isn't the White Wolf," she said gleefully. "You clean up nice, dear. Rather conspicuous for your taste, I'd wager, but I don't suppose you chose the outfit yourself."

"Yen." Geralt nodded stiffly.

"This is _not_ your scene." She stated.

"Obviously. I owed the bard a favor."

"Ah, I see." She craned her neck to get a look at Jaskier, who was doing his best to but Geralt between them. "Nice to see you again, Jaskier."

"Mm-hm!" Jaskier said in the tone of a man who knew if he spoke aloud, his voice would be an octave higher.

"Not exactly your scene, either," Geralt pointed out.

"Tragically, no," Yennefer sighed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Got to stay up to date on the politics, though, which means suffering through the socialites. It's all rather boring." Geralt nodded warily. "Well," she concluded, "as interesting as you two are, you're not heads of state, so I'll have to be on my merry way. Toodles!" Her hair glinted in the light of the chandeliers as she turned and walked away.

"That seemed easy," Jaskier muttered, reappearing from behind Geralt.

"Too easy," Geralt agreed, and made it a point to keep track of her. "She becomes problematic when she's bored." His goal quickly improved impossible to do simultaneously with being dragged around by Jaskier, so he supposed he'd have to hope for some juicy court drama to keep her occupied.

Jaskier seemed to know exactly how to navigate the crowded ballroom, taking Geralt by the wrist and leading the way, creating a wake for him to follow. Jaskier introduced him to classmates, employers, and what seemed to be past lovers, never mentioning his name (thank the gods) and referring to him as "my companion." Geralt didn't even mind. He stumbled his way through the formalities before Jaskier did the talking for the both of them, and he was content to just to stand there as an armpiece, scanning the room for Yennefer every so often.

When the violins started sweeping up the register and the basses leaned into their bows, it was time for the first dance of the evening. Jaskier pulled him into the circle, giddy with delight, as Geralt desperately tried to recall the steps. He forced himself past the memory of the electric embrace, but it was all his mind would offer. Thankfully, Jaskier was a reliable dance partner. His steps seemed even more graceful juxtaposed with Geralt's unsure ones, but eventually the choreography came back to him and he managed to survive the dance without stepping on any toes. As the final note faded away off the high ceilings of the hall, he dipped Jaskier once more, in time with the other dancers, and Jaskier's red cheeks and elated grin told him he hadn't done so poorly after all. 

Jaskier's swan beak clunked gracelessly against Geralt's mask and they shared an awkward laugh before Jaskier took him by the arm once again and they returned to his group of college friends, who greeted them with praise and compliments. What an attractive couple they had been, they lauded. Easily the best, they acclaimed. Despite being acutely aware of how fond bards were of hyperbole, Geralt couldn't help but smile, glad that the mask covered his expressions. He looked down at Jaskier talking excitedly about this and that, and felt something warm and fluttering in his chest he couldn't identify. He almost didn't hate it here.

He tried not to get nervous when he realized he'd lost Yennefer. It was a crowded event, people knew who she was, she wouldn't pull anything lethal.

That was why he didn't notice that his drink had changed color.

It wasn't just his, to be fair, but everyone's around him, gradually and over the course of an hour. The dark red wine became a deep purple and then a midnight blue, and it was only when some poor maiden had it knocked all over her white dress that people noticed. There were exclamations of surprise and confusion as people began to examine their glasses and, one by one, drop to the floor.

Geralt felt his vision start to go grainy, and he looked around wildly for Jaskier. Jaskier looked alarmed but fully conscious, saying something that Geralt couldn't process before the world went dark altogether.


	4. Bewitched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated O for Oblivious.

Geralt woke up to the sound of his own name, distant and echoey, as if from the end of a tunnel. He blinked his eyes open to see Jaskier bent over him, eyes fraught with worry.

"Geralt? Geralt! Are you okay? Can you move?"

With considerable effort, Geralt sat up. There was still a thick fog obscuring his thoughts, and he let his eyes wander across the room. Every other partygoer was on the floor, strewn about among puddles of blue wine and broken glass. They weren't moving.

"I checked some of their pulses. They're alive, at least." Jaskier answered his question before he had to ask it.

"Are you okay?" Geralt found it odd that Jaskier's system would have fought off whatever blight this was before he did.

"I didn't drink. I wasn't going to spend that much money to not end up lucid by night's end." Jaskier pulled himself up, but his gaze lingered on Geralt like there was something he wanted to say. Geralt noticed nail marks on the inside of Jaskier's palms. Finally, the fog cleared.

"Yennefer," he growled. "Where is she." Not bothering to wait for an answer, he stood and began to look around. At least, he tried to. His knees gave almost as soon as he was standing up. He lay in an undignified heap halfway down some stairs.

"Geralt," Jaskier sighed. Geralt batted his hands away when he tried to help him sit. Jaskier began to step carefully over the unconscious guests, looking for Yennefer.

"Before you start throwing sharp objects at me," a voice said from behind a pillar, "know that I wasn't behind this." Cautiously, Yennefer emerged. Geralt reached for the hilt of his dagger anyway.

"What. Did you do."

"Again. Not me, dearest. But I think you'll figure it out."

As if on cue, the other guests began to stir. Slowly, one by one, they sat up, groaning. Then they just got up. Brushed themselves off, shook their heads, and resumed partying. The wine had begun turning back to red. Geralt and Jaskier exchanged a confused glance.

Regaining his strength, Geralt strode over to Yennefer. "I swear on whosever grave you like that if you don't give me answers, I will use this on you." His hand hadn't left his dagger. Yennefer just pointed at the group closest to them.

There were three or four couples in the group, which was obvious by their costuming, but they suddenly seemed disinterested in their partners. People sidled just a bit too close to each other, eyeing each other furtively and then looking away, all while maintaining the same conversation they had been having before they had collapsed. To Geralt, it seemed more odd than anything else, but Jaskier looked scandalized.

"The Duke of-- and the Duke of-- _and_ the Duchess-- they're being forced to do this, then?" he turned to Yennefer.

"Oh, no," she shook her head, "from what I can tell, the spell just amplifies their intentions in the, ahem, procreative respect. First person you see, all that. Relationships are messy, messy, among the upper class, anyways. It doesn't seem strong enough to last more than a few hours, though."

"Do you have any idea the havoc this could wreak?"

"Oh, yes, and I'm sure whoever cast it does, too. It will be interesting, at least. Might even get a war out of it."

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "I know you know who did it."

"Oh, don't bother. He's long gone. I'm sure it was some bored mage, and he wouldn't have been stupid enough to linger. He's probably halfway to Nilfgaard by now." It bothered him, but Geralt knew she was right.

"Wait," Jaskier said, "what about you, Geralt?" It took a second for Geralt to understand.

"Yes, what about you, Geralt?" Yennefer seemed more amused than anything.

"I'm not here to fuck aristocrats, Yen."

"Maybe not, but the spell would still give you _some_ sort of urge. Unless," she batted her eyelashes, "well. I suppose you'd know."

Before he could figure out what she was trying to imply, she was gone, off to find out what messes she'd be responsible for cleaning up later.

Jaskier, on the other hand, looked like he understood something. Then he just looked like a deflated balloon.

"What is it?" Geralt asked, turning to him.

"Hm?" Jaskier seemed to snap out of a daze, plastering a smile onto his face. "Nothing. Lost in thought, is all." Nodding, Geralt wandered off to see if he could mitigate some of the damage.

* * *

_Well, fuck._

Of course it was stupid, Jaskier told himself. He had known that from the beginning. He fell in and out of love quicker than the tides but this particular thorn had refused to budge from his side no matter how many others he'd thrown himself at. Desperate attempts to free himself from feelings for a witcher, of all people.

And in the end, not even a goddamn love curse could make Geralt feel anything for him.

He felt like throwing himself onto a bed and sobbing, but that would have to wait for the next time he and Geralt parted. Funnily enough, he didn't suppose he'd leave willingly, even after this. He couldn't make himself. He'd suffered injuries worse than this. Right? It didn't feel like it now. Was he that repulsive? There was an aching, throbbing pit in his chest that poked at his ribcage mockingly with the beat of his heart. Where did he go wrong? He took a deep breath and imagined it dissolving away. It didn't. It only got worse. It tore at his insides with a vengeance, shrieking and howling with rage and pity and shame and all he could do was try to keep an even face. _This is stupid,_ he thought.

Finding a washroom, he ripped off the black swan mask. _The white wolf and the black swan. Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He cursed himself as he stared angrily at his reflection. He had bought the stupid masks and the stupid costumes, hoping for what, exactly? That Geralt would confess his love and they would ride off into the sunset? Please. He had put his good friend in an uncomfortable situation. He wouldn't be surprised if Geralt never talked to him again after this. Maybe this was the end, after all. He couldn't rid himself of Geralt, so Geralt would rid himself of him, once and for all. A fitting end, really. Despite his best efforts, he felt tears sting the inside of his eyes. Pursing his lips and looking away, he let a few of them roll down his cheeks before splashing his face with water and giving the mirror his most winsome smile. It looked fake. It would have to do.

Not letting his face change, he strode out of the bathroom, hoping nobody else could tell.

* * *

Geralt searched for about ten minutes before accepting that what Yennefer had said was true. The mage was gone. Suspecting that Jaskier had gone off to find his friends, Geralt meandered through the throngs of people, feeling bulky and out of place again. They were too enthralled with each other to notice him, thankfully, but he felt their phantom judgement all the same.

What was Yennefer getting at when she said that, anyway? The first person he saw was--

Oh.

That just didn't make sense. He didn't feel any different. Jaskier and he were just friends, of course, but the spell should have done something unless... unless...

Geralt wracked his brain to try to imagine love. What it felt like. He closed his eyes and observed the warm, relaxed sensation as it swam across his psyche, and he was in a field with Jaskier. No, that wasn't right. He shook his head and tried again. Calm, safe. By the campfire with Jaskier. Focus, Geralt. But no matter how hard he tried, he always came back to that obnoxious bard and his stupid clothes and his dumb, soft lips-- no, wait, hold up.

"Am I in love with that idiot?"

"Took you long enough." Yennefer was leaning on a pillar behind him. Geralt whipped his head around and she held up her hands in a placative manner.

"Is that what you meant?" Geralt furrowed his brow, still waiting for his own words to sink in.

"Dear gods, yes," she sighed. He could only stare. "And if I'm right, and I usually am, your bard's about to come out of the washroom and his eyes are going to be a little red, because your dumb ass just told him that you didn't feel anything about at all, even _with_ a love potion."

"But. He's not. Also."

"Geralt."

"... Really?"

"He follows you into constant peril, Geralt. Humans don't do that for just anyone."

"Oh."

"If I were you, I'd tell him. I was going to do it, but I figured it would only go poorly if you didn't know yourself."

Geralt physically recoiled at this.

"Well, otherwise you'll lose him. So figure out your priorities. Or don't. It's all the same to me, I suppose." She gazed over the crowd, which was becoming gradually more drunk and less clothed. "I don't suppose there's much more for me here. I'd recommend you collect your bard and get out of here before you can't anymore."

"Bye, Yen."

"Good luck, Witcher."

And Geralt was alone again, waiting for Jaskier, and slightly hoping something would attack him right then and there. That would be easier to face.


	5. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt is still a dumbass, but your waiting pays off. Thanks for sticking by, folks :)

Fuck. Geralt was right outside the bathroom. _Okay, Jaskier,_ he told himself, _everything is normal. Tip top. Couldn't be better._

"There you are!" His voice cracked. Dammit. He tried to compensate with an even wider smile.

"I couldn't find him," Geralt admitted, unfazed as ever. "We should probably get out of here before things get too messy."

Jaskier looked about. "You're probably right."

The journey back was quiet, but Jaskier couldn't tell for the life of him whether it was because of the events of the party or just because that's how Geralt was.

"I talked to Yennefer," Geralt said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence.

Jaskier felt his heart drop to his shoes. This was it, then. Geralt knew everything and was going to ask him to go. May as well feign ignorance for as long as he could. "What about?"

"You know what."

Jaskier sighed and looked away at the empty street, wishing everything could be different. That he could take it all back and have his best friend again. The moon was high now, bathing everything in the faintest of silver glows. He fiddled with the mask in his hands. "Ah. I see." He pursed his lips. "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I- I couldn't get rid of it, and I didn't know what to do. I know you probably hate me for it, but I'll never bring it up again if you let me stay, I swear, I can learn to-"

"What?"

"I- what do you mean, 'what?'"

"Why would I hate you?"

"You're going to make me say it?" Jaskier looked pleadingly up at Geralt's bewildered face. Jaskier's own eyes were wide and pleading. "You're going to make me say it. Okay, then." He took a shaky breath. "I am. Well. In love with you, Geralt." He stared hard at his shoes. "I'm sorry." Jaskier chewed at the inside of his lip and prayed vigorously for Destiny to wipe him off the map then and there.

Geralt said nothing.

* * *

Geralt felt like he'd never been in so much emotional strain in his life. That's what he assumed this terrible, achey feeling pounding at his lungs was. Jaskier wouldn't even look him in the eyes, and he couldn't figure out what he'd done to hurt him. He'd hurt a lot of people, but Jaskier? That was unconscionable.

"I am. Well. In love with you, Geralt. I'm sorry."

What.

A dam of emotions broke in his brain and nearly drowned him. He felt hot pinpricks sting his cheeks and most of all he felt that this was _wrong._ He had to _fix_ this. It took him a moment to muster up the words.

"I love you, too."

Those words were rare in Geralt's vocabulary. His throat and tongue protested as they slipped out past his lips, but inside he felt that it was right. They were the truest words he'd spoken in a long time.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. "What."

Slowly, Geralt nodded to himself, sinking into the feeling of correctness that was this. "I love you." He stopped a few feet ahead and turned around. "I'm sorry I made you sad." Awkwardly, he lifted his arms in what he hoped signaled a hug.

After a brief pause, Jaskier stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Geralt's torso, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Geralt let his arms wrap around him. They held each other like that for a moment, and it was... nice. Yes, nice. Then Geralt moved his hand to tip Jaskier's chin up toward him. His eyes were so blue it hurt. Jaskier got up on his toes and closed the distance between them, and nothing had ever felt so natural. Jaskier's lips were soft, and his face was right up against Geralt's. He smelled lovely. Geralt let the sensation wash over him, filling up every corner and crevice until he couldn't bear it anymore. He pulled away. Jaskier's face was flushed and his lips were curved in a cherry red grin.

"Does this mean you'll tolerate me a little while longer?"

Geralt smiled and pulled him back in to his chest. "I suppose so."


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're not quite done yet, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credited to LillieLullaby, who suggested I write one more lil chapter :),

In the cool night air, Jaskier clung to Geralt the whole way back, in a way Geralt would have minded had the situation been literally anything else. Tonight, though, he welcomed the weight and the warmth dragging down his left side but also grounding him. He felt like was dreaming.

The moon continued to rise, steady and predictable as always. Geralt had never believed in reading fortune from the stars, because they always did the same thing. It was comforting, and also a little scary. Kingdoms could burn and empires could rise and the moon would always be doing the same thing, night after night. Tonight, Jaskier had kissed him, and the moon remained unfazed, and if that could happen, well, anything could. Detangling himself momentarily, he slipped an arm around Jaskier's shoulders. Jaskier reached up and intertwined their fingers. Geralt could feel the smiling warmth radiating off of him, and had he been a human, he probably would have dropped the mask dangling listlessly from his fingers by now.

Neither of them felt the need to say anything. Despite the absence of Jaskier's usual chatter, there was a distinct notion that everything that needed to had been said already. It was a comfortable silence. They walked that way until they returned.

* * *

A bit later, Jaskier pinched himself for the third time in fifteen minutes. Nope, still not dreaming. Which left no viable explanation as to how he had ended up shirtless in Geralt's bed. Because surely, that sappy little number on the road home could have only come from his imagination. It was far too romantic for anything Geralt was capable of. Deaf to his confusion, however, Destiny had him half naked and locking lips with a witcher, warmer and happier than he'd been in... quite a while, actually. He felt like an inexperienced teenager again, butterflies rioting in his stomach and his brain running too fast for his body to catch up.

This was not going to stop him from kissing back with enthusiasm as he comforted in the familiar and very new weight that pressed upon him. Geralt had all but hauled him to their room, tense with an apprehension Jaskier wasn't worried about, for once. This on he could fix, he thought smugly.

"Now, Geralt-- you're-- sure about this?" He said between kisses. Geralt pulled back, if only barely.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, you're, you're sure there's no love potion at work here?"

"Jask, the fact that I downed a love potion and didn't feel different than normal about you should be indication enough."

"Fair point," Jaskier supposed.

"And this, this is okay?" Geralt looked worried suddenly. Jaskier hated to see him recoil as if he were something unsavory.

"Yes," he almost laughed, "yes, of course this is okay." And with a little more joy in his heart, he pulled Geralt back into bed.

* * *

"So, what did you talk with Yennefer about, then?"

It was later, and they were comfortably tangled now, unwilling to move to put out the torches despite the hour.

"Uh. She may have helped me understand how much of an idiot I was being." Jaskier could feel the vibrations of his words in his chest. It was calming.

"Ah," Jaskier nodded sagely, "You were quite an idiot." That earned him a shove. "But seriously," he continued, "you couldn't come to it yourself?"

"It was easier to keep on going like we always had. I never considered it. I never let myself consider it, rather."

"Why?"

"Nobody benefits from a love like that."

"A love from a witcher? Because I could list off _quite_ a few, first and foremost a truly wonderful--"

"An unwanted love." Jaskier stopped talking. This was clearly something that ate at him.

"Just because a love is unrequited doesn't mean it's useless," he offered. "For example, one might learn that they are willing to sleep in the woods, or walk literally everywhere, or talk to the emotional equivalent of a brick wall for hours on end. Hypothetically. Besides, there's an undeniable tragic beauty--"

There was a sigh. "There's no room for romantics on the path, Jask."

Jaskier clicked his tongue. "Aw. Well, maybe just one?" He looked up pleadingly, knowing full well he could coax out whatever answer he wanted right now.

"Well. Maybe just one."


End file.
